


What Happened in Dong Lu Trung

by RainbowQuartz0



Series: What Happened in Dong Lu Trung [2]
Category: The Things They Carried - Tim O'Brien
Genre: 1960s, 20th Century, Falling In Love, Fluff, Historical, Kissing, LGBTQ Character, Light Angst, Literature, Love Stories, M/M, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Requited Love, Secret Relationship, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Tsundere, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2020-11-07 23:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowQuartz0/pseuds/RainbowQuartz0
Summary: "Rat Kiley didn’t have as many memories of Curt Lemon as he’d have liked to. Laying in bed, listening to the quiet, shallow breathing of his sleeping wife, he decided to tell himself the story one more time." The full story of how Rat and Curt Lemon fell in love from the perspective of Rat.





	1. Night Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat meets a new member of Alpha Company and has trouble placing his feelings towards him. That is, until they share a night watch shift.

Rat Kiley didn’t have as many memories of Curt Lemon as he’d have liked to. They only spanned a few months, after all, and most left him wanting more. That was to say that many involved no interaction at all, just observation or the sudden meeting of gazes. That didn’t stop Rat from meticulously combing through each one from beginning to end, trying to change the story or remember some little piece he’d forgotten. The earliest he could remember was of shaking hands with a green, 18-year-old FNG. A cherry. The latest was of Lemon stepping into the light with a grin on his face. Laying in bed, listening to the quiet, shallow breathing of his sleeping wife, he decided to tell himself the story one more time.

\---

“Hopefully you won’t need to see too much of me,” Rat said after explaining his role as a medic. Lemon replied with a quick, “Alright, man,” a nod, and a grin. The most distinctive feature of this memory was the way Rat had kicked himself after saying this, how he’d thought for hours, maybe even days, what a stupid thing that was to say to someone you’d never met before. Even stranger, he thought it wasn’t the first time he said something like that to a new company member. Nonetheless, he could still feel the shame, embarrassment, and, most prominently, the confusion rising up in him as he studied Lemon’s face from the other end of the vehicle.

Curt Lemon was tall and blonde with a handsome, lightly tanned face that shone with sweat brought on by the hot morning sun, he recalled. Rat Kiley remembered the youthful grey eyes most of all. He saw how they darted every so often towards him, briefly meeting his gaze before focusing back on a conversation, a task, or a game. Despite his height, Rat could see that the rucksack was ever so slightly too big for him. Curt Lemon, despite his carefree, determined posturing, looked no more like a soldier than any other 18-year-old registering for the draft back at home. 

“What do you think of that Lemon guy?” Rat asked O’Brien one afternoon while humping through the jungle. Rat stared just ahead at Lemon’s figure, wondering if they were far enough away not to be heard. He decided they were.

“I think he’s a dick. He’s funny, but he’s a dick. Haven’t talked to him much though.” 

“Me neither.” Rat hesitated. O’Brien didn’t reply. Rat already knew that about him, but there was something more captivating about the way Curt Lemon conducted himself than just being a dick. The guy was reckless and detached, no doubt. But despite that detachedness with which he would set fire to a hootch full of rice stashed away for Charlie, Lemon loved to entertain the kids they came across in the hamlets. He’d make funny faces at them and learn their names, usually forgetting them. It was that youthfulness that piqued Rat Kiley’s curiosity most of all. 

“Did I ever tell you about Karen? The girl I met a few years back?”

Rat realized how sunburnt Curt Lemon had become over the course of the day as he studied how the man struggled to light the cigarette in his mouth. He noticed how the deep pink in his cheeks shone in the evening sun as Lemon cupped his hand around the silver lighter. Rat lifted his smoke back to his lips and took a long, deep pull as he watched. He imagined his lungs blackening, then sighed and took another drag. This was the nearest Rat had come to Lemon aside from the brief handshake, he noted to himself. 

As O’Brien made his way over to them, Rat quickly came back to reality and shifted his gaze. He resolved to finish the story about Karen, at least to have a break from the somber mood of the rest of the company. And maybe, he thought, to get his focus onto another subject. 

While Rat detailed the ups and downs of his past relationship, O’Brien listened intently, occasionally shaking his head in disbelief. Curt Lemon, on the other hand, seemed to be in a different dimension than the one Rat and O’Brien were in. Lemon stared off into the depths of the jungle, nodding slowly in response to Rat’s rambling. 

“God, you should’ve met this girl,” Rat said, wagging his cigarette in Lemon’s face, “She had these big old doe eyes and cute little pigtails. Too bad she’s got herself a boyfriend. What a girl.”  As the story reached its conclusion, Lemon suddenly looked down at the cigarette in his hand as if he didn’t know how it had gotten there.

“Christ, I don’t even like cigarettes.  They’re nothing but cancer sticks, man.” He took another long drag.

“You’d better get used to it, there’s not much of anything to do in Nam but smoke and talk,” Rat replied. "And fuckin' blow-up gooks. And burn down hooches." He trailed off. Rat looked back at Curt Lemon. Lemon looked scared. Rat couldn’t remember the last time Curt Lemon was scared by anything in the time he’d known him. Rat looked down at boots. He almost felt embarrassed seeing this side of Lemon. It didn’t seem like the guy got emotional too often. At the very least, he didn’t show it.

"God damn it." Rat felt like shit.  _ I should keep my fucking mouth shut every now and then.  _ He grabbed the pack of Lucky Strikes next to him and removed the last cigarette.  _ And now I’m on my last goddamn smoke. _ Rat’s face was red hot as he went to reach for his matches. And then Lemon leaned towards him.

Lemon’s lighter flipped open. His fingertips brushed Rat’s cheek as he cupped his free hand. Rat saw the tiny flame lick the end of his cigarette. Shocked, he briefly looked up at Lemon’s face. His blue eyes were fixed on the flame, the lighter, the end of the cigarette. Rat noted how Curt Lemon’s smooth fingertips trembled, yet continued to linger, drifting down to his jawline. Lemon pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in. His eyes met Rat’s. Lemon didn’t look scared anymore, Rat noted. Lemon sat back, hands resting on his knees. Self-assured, maybe. He wondered if he should acknowledge what had just happened.

Lemon dug deep into his rucksack, pulled out an M18 smoke grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it at Rat Kiley, who caught it. His face relaxed back into his usual cocky grin.

“Lemon, what the hell—” Rat threw it right back at him as Lemon started to laugh. For a brief moment, he forgot about his embarrassment, the cigarette hanging from his mouth, O’Brien, Lt. Cross, the war, as he laughed with Lemon.

“Curt Lemon, you  _ bastard _ !” Rat yelled, grinning, as he flung the canister. The smoke grenade gave a loud  _ pop _ , and the air began to fill with red smoke.

“ _ Jesus, you two, knock it off! _ ” Lt. Cross hollered. Lemon grinned.

“My bad, sir!” 

He turned back to Rat.

“I won.” 

  
  


The night after the ambush in Dong Lu Trung was when the story began to take shape in his mind. They were on patrol once again and Lt. Cross had decided to take up an NDP. All Rat could wonder was why the hell Cross thought they’d be able to sleep a few hours after an ambush. He knew damn well he wouldn’t be sleeping, especially not with the cool, light rain now coming down over them.

“Anyone interested in doing the first night watch shift with me tonight?” Lt. Cross asked as the rest of his company got settled.

“I’m on it, L-T,” Rat sighed as he pushed himself up from a comfortable resting position on a tree.

“Thanks, buddy,” Cross said, hitting Rat on the back. “The rest of you, figure the other shifts out, got it?”

“Don’t let him fall asleep on us, Rat,” Curt Lemon called out, grinning like a child on a sugar rush. Rat watched drops of rain trickle down his sunburned, dirt-tracked cheeks.

“Alright, man.”

_ Ten minutes left. _ Rat glanced back at Cross to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep. Though he could barely make out the man’s face in the cloudy darkness, as usual, he could hear the lieutenant anxiously tapping his foot on the saturated soil. He could imagine his superior’s eyes darting from one side of the jungle to the other, his ears listening keenly for Charlie. Jimmy Cross never fell asleep on night watch, thanks to the NoDoz pills he kept with him. Rat wondered why Cross would even bother bringing someone along to keep him awake. Most of all, he thought about who would volunteer to be his night watch buddy. He really, really hoped it would be Lemon.

Aside from the drops of water pitter-pattering from leaf to leaf from the evening showers, the night was eerily quiet. Rat scratched at a mosquito bite from over his jacket. 

“Alright, you’re up, Rat,” Lieutenant Cross whispered as he sat himself up. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” 

Rat listened carefully to the footsteps to and from where he sat. As they drew nearer, he recognized the blind footsteps of a green soldier whose eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark.

“Rat? Where are you? I can’t see a thing out here.” Lemon whispered loudly, turning his head in every direction.

“Right here, man.” Rat Kiley extended his hand towards Lemon, who briefly groped around in the darkness before taking a tight grip on the extended hand. 

As Lemon guided himself to a seat near Rat’s position, Rat contemplated the feeling of the hand locked together with his. Smooth, slightly warm, and profoundly dirty, he noted. Not yet calloused either, and the man was clearly shivering.

Lemon sat right next to Rat, shoulder to shoulder. Neither let go of the other’s hand for several seconds before Lemon pulled his hand back. Not one to allow for silence, Lemon began talking again.

“Why in the hell is it so cold out here at night?”

“Wish I knew. Bring your poncho liner next time. And keep the whisper low,” Rat whispered softly, staring straight ahead. “You can share mine.”

“Thanks, but I don’t --”

“Take it, Lemon. I’m serious.”

Lemon was quiet for a moment. He gently pulled the edge of Rat’s poncho liner over himself, dividing the area evenly. A brief silence took hold as Lemon settled into the warmth of the poncho liner and Rat’s body heat. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two were closer now. Their knees were touching. Rat felt the dampness in Lemon’s fatigues from the rain. He thought about how he’d never sat like this with someone while on patrol, and how despite that, it felt so natural to have Lemon by his side. They were war buddies now, he thought. The usual anxiety of the night patrols was barely palpable in his mind. 

“Hey, I can see a little better now.”

Rat turned his head to look at the silhouette beside him. His head was leaning against the same tree, and Rat imagined that classic Lemon grin on his face.

“Hey, Rat.”

“Hey, Lemon.” Rat leaned the side of his head on the tree too.

“Does everyone call you that? Rat, I mean?”

“Yeah. My real name’s Bob Kiley but no one’s called me that since boot camp.” Rat laughed a little. 

“So, were you drafted?” Lemon asked bluntly.

“Yeah. I had a student deferment but I blew it. Fuckin’ plagiarism.” Rat laughed bitterly to himself under his breath. “You enlisted, didn’t you? What, was your old man some big-shot war hero? Fought in Europe or something?”

“That’s right, actually. How’d you know that?” Lemon asked, amused.

“Lucky guess.” It wasn’t so much a lucky guess as he knew Lemon’s type. He wasn’t sure of himself; all he knew was his family expected him to join and carry on the family tradition. He could imagine them now, all surrounding the television, cheering on the Americans in Vietnam, medals hanging on the wall of their quaint suburban home. Lemon had as much of an option to be here as Rat. That was to say: none at all.

The moon emerged from the clouds, illuminating Curt Lemon’s thin face and grey eyes, which stared right into Rat’s. He noted that Lemon wasn’t shivering anymore.

“Gooks are real quiet tonight. Sometimes you hear the fuckers moving around. It’s scary as shit at night,” Rat whispered, turning his head towards the dark jungle. He sighed. “I can’t stand this country.”

“If we know where they are why not kill them?”

“Neither of us want any trouble for the most part. Not to mention most of the guys are trying to get some rest. Unless it’s some kind of ambush.”

“Ambush… right.” Curt nodded as if he knew exactly what Rat was talking about, rather than having just witnessed his first ambush a few hours ago. Hell, it was their company that had initiated the ambush to begin with. He had no idea what it was like for one of your guys to drop dead, for everyone to hit the trail, to plug up holes while enemy bullets fly over your head. To have a guy die before your eyes. 

“Rat?” Lemon whispered. Rat, suddenly aware of how long his silence was, jerked his head around to look at Lemon in surprise. What was more surprising was that Lemon had stopped smiling, his expression replaced by that same scared look that he’d had when Rat was talking about the war. Concerned, he decided to ask. Was it VC? A snake?

“What’s wrong—” Rat started as Lemon crashed his lips onto Rat’s. Without thinking, Rat kissed back roughly, grabbing the other’s knee. He briefly wondered about the rest of Alpha Company and reminded himself of the thick jungle foliage blocking their view of each other before turning his attention back to kissing Lemon, who moved to cup Rat’s face with his right hand. It clicked. All of those lingering gazes during those few hot Vietnamese days they’d shared, the cigarette lighting, it all came together. He’d been wanting Curt Lemon this whole time and he had no goddamn idea, but now there was no question in his mind.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting so long for this,” Lemon murmured as he came up for air.

“Me too.”

  
  



	2. VC on the Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat comes to terms with his feelings towards Lemon. Alpha Company is ambushed.

_ I had sex with Curt Lemon last night. _ The thought kept playing on a loop in his brain, sinking like a stone in his guts every new time it returned. Rat downed the last of the instant, black, rainwater coffee in his tin cup.

“Good morning Rat,” Kiowa said as he walked over. Rat, thinking for a moment Lemon had come to confront him, jumped at the voice directed towards him. 

“How’s the jungle rot looking today—” Kiowa started as he rolled up his fatigues.

“That’s fucking disgusting. I don’t want to see that shit, Kiowa,” Rat snapped.

“Gosh, Rat, just thought I’d ask,” he replied bashfully, dropping the pant leg in his hands, “It’s not like there’s another medic around here.”

“I told you yesterday, just keep it dry. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

Rat looked back into his empty cup, resuming his train of thought. Processing all of the emotions was best described as torture; infatuation, anger, relief, shame, and, most prominently, confusion, battled in his mind. Sure, he conceded, he’d never gotten past second base with a girl and had never really felt the need to, but had never considered the possibility that he could be a homosexual. He couldn’t really consider any other explanation after what had just occurred. He’d also never considered how much he thought of sex and relationships as a chore, an achievement, a trophy, until it wasn’t. The truth was that nothing had ever come as naturally to Rat as Curt Lemon.

_ God fucking damnit. _

He heard steps approaching him once more.

“Back on patrol in ten, ruck up!” Lt. Cross shouted in the distance.

“Hey man, you ready to kill some gooks?” Lemon asked, loading a magazine into his M-16 as he walked over. He stopped suddenly when seeing the expression on Rat’s face. “What’s wrong Rat, are you doing okay?”

“Fuck off Lemon. I’m sick of being out in this goddamn jungle. That’s what.” Rat spat, lugging his rucksack over his shoulders and standing up. “I’m sick of humping all this shit so we can kill people for a war I couldn’t give a half shit about.” The vulgarities spilled out of him, perhaps in an attempt to get Lemon to leave him alone so Rat wouldn’t have to think about how much he wanted him. He began to storm past when Lemon put a hand on his shoulder. Rat stopped dead in his tracks at the feeling and fought the urges to push him away and pull him in all at once.

“Come on, Rat, this isn’t like you,” Lemon implored under his breath, looking steadily down on the other man. Rat reluctantly looked up to meet the other’s gaze, his heart beating out of his chest. Lemon briefly looked over his shoulder before leaning over to Rat’s ear, “Just forget about it, okay?”

“Yeah man, whatever,” Rat muttered, breaking eye contact, head down to hide his reddened face as Lemon walked off to resume a conversation he’d been having with Azar. He couldn’t tell if he was more embarrassed by what Lemon had said to him or the way he lost his breath when Lemon spoke softly in his ear as he did the night earlier. _ Just forget about it, okay? _ Momentarily noting how the sunburn on Lemon’s face had faded into a deep bushtan, Rat sighed, secured his towel around his neck, and began another absentminded day of humping.

It wasn’t 30 minutes before Rat’s attempt at absentmindedness became another feverish cycle of overthinking. At the back of the line, looking out over the rest of Alpha Company, he unconsciously scanned the backs of helmets and bouncing rucksacks, looking for Curt Lemon. _ Forget about it? Is that what he’s doing? Is he talking to someone else? Has he ever done this with another guy? I damn well haven’t. _

_ Does Lemon want to forget about me? _

Yes, torture seemed the phrase best suited to this situation.

_ CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK! _

“VC ON THE TRAIL!” Rat hit the ground and grabbed his helmet. The deafening crackle of rifles was paralyzing. His heart pounded, adrenaline rushed, he felt sick. _Ride it out, ride it out, ride it out. There can’t be more than five of them._ _Ride it out, ride it out, ride it out._

Before Rat could fire a shot, the fight was over. The sounds of quiet, mesmerized profanities and prayers filled the trail. As he looked around, everyone seemed to be fine. Deeper into the jungle, to Rat’s left, were two visible VC corpses, which he quickly looked away from.

“Agh, I twisted my goddamn ankle!” Lemon called out. “I can’t walk!” Lemon wasn’t visible to Rat, but he seemed to be to Rat’s right, hidden in the bush.

Cross sighed. “Rat, go see if you can fix up Lemon. I don’t want another med-evac if I can help it.”

“You got it, sir.”

“Alpha company, let’s take 30!”

Rat was suddenly very pissed off. If he was injured, why Lemon, of all the guys? If not, what the hell did the man want now? It seemed like a game, he thought. A sick game. He pushed aside thick jungle foliage to move towards the faint groaning sound. Only 30 feet or so from the trail was Lemon, laying on his back, propped up on his elbows. He grinned, looking somewhat embarrassed. Rat looked down on his fellow soldier critically.

“Which ankle is it?” Rat said as he bent down to observe Lemon’s ankles.

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.” Rat looked back up at Lemon’s beaming face incredulously, then sat back and removed his rucksack before massaging his temples.

“Goddamn you, Lemon,” Rat sighed, starting to laugh a bit. “I was worried about you.”

“I just thought you might want to get away again,” Lemon said quietly, sitting up and sliding a hand onto Rat’s knee. Rat looked back up, meeting the eyes that took his breath away. He did want that.

“I thought you wanted to forget about it,” Rat murmured, never breaking eye contact.

“I thought _ you _ wanted to forget about it,” Lemon replied, just as quietly. Rat leaned in to lock lips with Lemon, who wrapped his arms around the other without hesitation, reciprocating the slow, deep kiss. For those few minutes, Vietnam was nothing. The war was nothing. All there was in the world was him and Lemon. He slowly broke away. Looking back in Lemon’s deep blue eyes, he felt as though his mind had begun to settle for the first time that day.

“I couldn’t forget if I wanted to,” Rat confessed, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with me but we’re sticking together from here on out and that’s that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Rat Kiley.” Lemon smirked and pulled Rat in for another kiss.

  
  
  



	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat reflects on his evolving relationship with Lemon as the two open up more to each other. Meanwhile, the weight of having to keep their relationship a secret weighs heavily on both.

“Fire in the hole, motherfuckers!” Lemon pulled the pin a grenade and threw it down a tunnel tucked away in the back corner of the hamlet. He ran back towards Rat, laughing as he pulled his weapon, pointing it at the opening. The loud bang of the grenade’s explosion followed soon after. Then, the distressed chatter of the men below.

The mama-san crouching at the front of the hamlet screamed in fright, then grimaced, revealing her stained black teeth. Rat turned around and pointed his rifle at her.

“Knock it off!” he snarled. She made a miserable, angry, twisted face at him, her eyes full of tears. She said something vengeful and incomprehensible to him which made his stomach drop with guilt.

Rat turned back to Lemon. He’d torn his sleeves off to accommodate the crushing, stifling, midday heat of the jungle, which only seemed to get worse inside the structure. Rat had become used to the constant layer of sweat and grime coating his being but observed how the same treatment made his fellow soldier’s deep tan gleam and glisten when touched by the oppressive sun. It was beautiful, he thought. Lemon was beautiful.

“Get out of there, you fucking bastards! Di di mau! Get your asses out of there!” Lemon yelled, poking his rifle in the hole. His sharp language masked the nerves furrowing his brows. Rat noted fondly that Lemon had begun to pick up Vietnamese.

The chatter of the men, two NVA soldiers, loudened as they crawled out of the hole, dirty but mostly uninjured, maybe from hanging out in some side tunnel. Regardless, it beat having to go in there to drag them out.

“There we go! Keep those hands up boys,” Lemon smiled proudly, his deeply tanned skin gleaming with sweat as he moved the men back towards the entrance, keeping his rifle at one’s back. He turned to Rat. “I got you some dinks, Rat. Fresh out the tunnel. You can pick one.”

“You’re real badass, Lemon—”

“Victor or Charlie, take your pick,” he said, pointing the muzzle at both as he spoke. He turned suggestive and smirked, “Victor here looks strong, I’ll bet he’d dig your foxholes for you.”

“Real badass. Right in front of their mother too, you sick fuck.” Rat was laughing along now. The Vietnamese men kept their heads hung and their dirt-caked hands in the air.

“Hey now, it might not be their mother—”

“What’s taking you guys so long, I got orders to burn this place to the ground,” Azar said, poking his head through the entrance. Rat and Lemon froze. He flicked his eyebrow, snapping his fingers with one hand and flicking a Zippo with the other. His eyes widened at the sight of the captive men.

“Oh lucky you, Lemon. Look at you,” Azar mumbled feverishly, beginning to circle them as if they were prey and he a hunter. He stopped in his tracks, staring at them dead-on. “Well, time to turn you in. You guys missed all the fun!” He spat at them, still snapping and flicking the Zippo. Azar, as Rat understood him, was particularly nasty. Lemon interrupted his brief train of thought as he led the prisoners out with his rifle at attention.

“_Rat._ Rat, Rat, Rat.” Azar muttered, leaning forward to study the other soldier’s face and darting his tongue between chapped lips.

“Look, man, is there something you want to say to me?”

Azar just grinned, looked to the old woman — her head now between her legs — back at Rat, and walked out of the hamlet.

It was one of those moments where Rat felt anxiety briefly pull at him. Azar had a way of looking at a guy to make him feel like he knew every damn thing about him, just out of spite. Like he could read your mind. Half the time, Rat didn’t know he was in Vietnam at all. Just being around Lemon lifted the weight from his rucksack, the heat of the boonies, the fear of death. The intensity of it all, gone. Curt Lemon was brave and carefree and even reckless. He was the angel of Vietnam and Rat wanted to spend following him anywhere he might go.

Occasionally, Alpha company would be humping up a mountain to God-knows-where and they would make conversation, as a company does, and the conversations between the two would walk right up to the border of intimacy or even affection. Then they would stop and think of getting a blue discharge on their military records, and talk about anything else. The heat, VC, girls, war stories, or anything else abrasive enough to avoid suspicion.

When they were alone, out on night patrol together or digging a foxhole or in a quiet spot on the base, talk got serious. Between the intimate and affectionate talk, the subtle touches and kisses and intertwining of fingers and occasional sex, they shared the worries. Was anyone taking notice of them? _I touched your hand in front of all those guys, that was fucking stupid of me_, Lemon would say. Rat would reassure him, and they took turns in that way.

  
The day after burning the little village to the ground, Lemon had volunteered for his first recon mission. Rat was enamored and anxious all at once, even more so in the hours before Lemon would leave.

“You’re a hell of a lot braver than me, Lemon,” Rat said, looking up at the tanned, blond man bathed in sunlight. He grabbed his shoulder and squeezed tight to avoid side glances. He wanted to reach out and embrace Lemon more than anything. Lemon laughed and shook his head.

“I don’t think I am, Rat. You’ve got me all wrong,” he said with a smirk that was more sad than giddy. He looked around, into the jungle and the bright, shining sky. Helicopters swung over the base at a rising volume. “Hell, I guess we’re all pretty brave, huh.”

Lemon pulled Rat into a hug with a couple of hard pats for discretion. He pulled away.

“Guess I’ll catch you on the flip side, Rat Kiley. Don’t get into too much trouble without me.” He turned with his usual smirk and ran off with his team.

  
Rat stayed there for a moment in the heat, listening to the deafening symphony of Vietnam, fighting the pull to follow behind.


	4. Being in Love's a Fucking Drag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat tries to vent about his separation from Lemon to O'Brien.

With Lemon away on a week-long recon mission, everything in the country seemed sharper, even back behind the lines. The sun was hotter, the air thicker, choppers louder, and the mosquitos seemed to quadruple in number. Even lying in his bed with nothing to do and nowhere to be, he felt suffocated. He told himself over and over that Lemon would survive and be home by the end of the week as promised but couldn’t bring himself to believe that.

In that brief period of separation, Rat Kiley realized that it is easier to recall your lover’s face when they are gone. He lamented that he had neglected the creases that appeared in the shiny, brown skin around Lemon’s eyes when he smiled or the way he would occasionally remove his helmet to ruffle his short blond hair to see if it had gotten any longer since his last check. Or of course, the way he’d never shut up, always planning a practical joke, shooting the breeze, or planning to sneak away for a kiss (or sex, if time allowed). In another way, Rat was fascinated by his own feelings, having never experienced that overwhelming sensation of attraction until meeting Curt Lemon.

He noted to himself, reclining in his bunk, that  _ being in love’s a fucking drag. _

“Huh?” O’Brien slurred drowsily. Tim O’Brien, laying in another bunk several feet away, lifted a baseball cap from his face. O’Brien, a stoic, quiet Midwesterner, was hard to read, usually looking like he was scowling or deep in thought. Despite this, the two took a friendly liking to each other when O’Brien first arrived in country, with Rat being the one to initiate stupid jokes or tell war stories and O’Brien the one to keep Rat’s head on his shoulders and call him out on his bullshit. They found they not only kept each other alive, but entertained as well, made good war buddies.

“What, did I say something?” Rat lied, cursing himself for speaking so loud.

“You did. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” O’Brien laughed a little to himself and reached to turn the radio down. Rat did want to tell him. O’Brien wanted to listen.

“There’s just this girl... Cindy, you know? I’ve just been thinking about her a whole lot.”

“Cindy? You never mentioned her,” he said skeptically, folding his hands behind his head.

“Well her and I, a few weeks before I shipped out… we really hit it off, y’know? I dunno man, I’ve-- I’d never felt this way about a girl in my whole life. She’s real cute and funny. Pretty too.”

“That’s nice, Rat. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well matter of fact, I just got a letter from her and she’s… she’s going off to do some Peace Corps thing. That’s another thing too, real brave. And I just can’t quit worrying about her, man. I don’t want her to get hurt or anything like that. Like I said, love’s a  _ fucking _ drag.”

O’Brien must have recognized some sincerity in the story as he rolled to his side and listened more intently.

“You think the Peace Corps is that dangerous? Hell, you’re the one taking rifle fire in the boonies. Where is she?”

“She didn’t say,” Rat explained, feeling his lies catching up to him.

Something more about O’Brien: he was smart as hell and headed for Harvard graduate school once he got back stateside. Rat, who lied frequently and with ease, often felt like a fool for trying to outsmart him. Now was one of those times, as O’Brien looked intently at Rat, dragging out the silence between his reply.

“You said you love her?”

“Shit, O’Brien, I don’t know. Forget it,” Rat, whose face had turned red long before, rolled over to face away from his companion in shame.

“Rat. You’re my friend. Honest to God. If you… if you want to say something just say it and I won’t mind. Honest.” O’Brien spoke with genuine sincerity.

Rat laid there, kicking himself, wishing he could disappear or eat his words _ , anything. _

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The radio played quiet British rock as Rat waited for some kind of reply, scratching mosquito bites absentmindedly. 

“Alright then.” The radio volume increased once again.

To ease his growing tension, Rat picked up a cigarette and a lighter. He noticed that his hands shook as he tried to open the Zippo and light the smoke. He thought of Lemon again and the way his fingers felt on his face as he lit Rat’s cigarette when Rat was too shaken up to do so himself, as he was now. As Rat finally took his first drag, he felt the shame of his attraction turn to anger.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck me, man. Fuck this place. _ Rat’s hands were woven together over his face, keeping the cigarette in place between his fingers. Today, the nicotine made things worse. A lump grew in his throat. He swallowed hard. For a moment, he waited for a response from O’Brien: nothing.

“I think I’m sick, O’Brien. Like not sick, you know, I’m sick in the head. I wish I was lying.” Rat coughed feebly as the smoke filled his lungs.

“I’m fucked up man.”

There was a long pause. O’Brien took a deep, slow breath.

“I’m not going to ask. But even if you were sick in the head,” He paused, “You’re my friend and God knows you’re the best medic we’ve got out here. Don’t let it get to you.”

“You got it, O’Brien,” Mustering up a sense of humor, Rat rolled around and smiled, “We’re in the middle of the jungle for God’s sake. How much more fucked up could it get?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This fic is a part of a series with several chapters and is updated frequently. If you enjoyed this story, please bookmark, share, or subscribe to continue supporting my work.


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